Not with more joy the lonely exile scann"d The writing traced upon the desert sand, Where his lone breast but little hop"d to find One trace of life, one stamp of human kind, Than did I hail the pure, th" enlightened zeal, The strength to reason and the warmth to feel, The manly polish and the illumin"d taste, Which,--"mid the melancholy, heartless waste My foot has travers"d,--oh you sacred few!
I found by Delaware"s green banks with you.
The only pleasant memories of America that Thomas Moore carried back with him to England were of the "nights of mirth and mind" spent "where Schuylkill winds his way through banks of flowers." He was in Philadelphia in the autumn of 1804, and was lionized by the _Port Folio_; the eighth epistle in the "Poems Relating to America," from which the lines above are quoted, was written at Buffalo, and it was from Buffalo also that Moore sent to Dennie the ma.n.u.script of the beautiful "Lines on Leaving Philadelphia," which was published in the _Port Folio_ of August 31, 1805 (Vol. V, p. 271), and reprinted in Brockden Brown"s _Literary Magazine_, January, 1806 (Vol. III, p. 27).
LINES WRITTEN ON LEAVING PHILADELPHIA.
Alone by the Schuylkill a wanderer rov"d, And bright were its flowery banks to his eye; But far, very far were the friends that he lov"d, And he gazed on its flowery banks with a sigh.
O Nature, though blessed and bright are thy rays, O"er the brow of creation enchantingly thrown, Yet faint are they all to the l.u.s.tre that plays In a smile from the heart that is fondly our own!
Nor long did the soul of the stranger remain Unblest by the smile that he languished to meet; Though scarce did he hope it would soothe him again, Till the threshold of home had been prest by his feet.
But the lays of his boyhood had stol"n to their ear, And they lov"d what they knew of so humble a name; And they told him, with flattery welcome and dear, That they found in his heart something better than fame.
Nor did woman--O woman! whose form and whose soul Are the spell and the light of each path we pursue; Whether sunn"d in the tropics or chill"d at the pole, If a woman be there, there is happiness too.
Nor did she her enamouring magic deny,-- That magic his heart had relinquished so long,-- Like eyes he had loved was _her_ eloquent eye, Like them did it soften and weep at his song.
Oh, blest be the tear, and in memory oft May its sparkle be shed o"er the wanderer"s dream; Thrice blest be that eye, and may pa.s.sion as soft, As free from a pang, ever mellow its beam!
The stranger is gone--but he will not forget, When at home he shall talk of the toils he has known, To tell with a sigh what endearments he met, As he stray"d by the wave of the Schuylkill alone.
It is interesting to remember that the woman in the poem,
Like eyes he had loved was her eloquent eye,
was the wife of Joseph Hopkinson, the author of "Hail Columbia," whose house at Fourth and Chestnut Streets was the resort of Dennie and the wits.
Moore also contributed to the _Port Folio_ "When Time who steals our Hearts Away," "Dear, in Pity do not Speak," "Good-night, Good-night, and is it so?" "When the Heart"s Feeling," "Loud sung the Wind," and "The Sorrow long has worn my Heart."
Among the _Port Folio_ gentlemen who may have met "Anacreon" Moore, and who were Dennie"s faithful coadjutors, were John Blair Linn, John Shaw, Francis Cope, Robert H. Rose, Thomas I. Wharton, Charles J. Ingersoll and his brother Edward, Condy Raguet, Robert Walsh, John Sanderson, John Syng Dorsey, Royall Tyler, Robert Hare, Dr. Nathaniel Chapman, Alexander Graydon, Josiah Quincy, John Leeds Bozman, William B. Wood, General Thomas Cadwalader, Philip Hamilton, Richard Rush, Richard Peters, Gouverneur Morris, Joseph Hopkinson, Horace Binney, Alexander Wilson, Charles Brockden Brown and Samuel Ewing. To this list must be added the bright names of Sarah Hall, Mrs. Elizabeth Ferguson and Harriet Fenno.
The editors and editorial helpers of the _Port Folio_ from the death of Dennie until 1827, when the magazine finally ceased, were Paul Allen, Nicholas Biddle, Dr. Charles Caldwell, Thomas Cooper, Judge Workman, John Elihu Hall, and his three brothers James, Thomas Mifflin, and Harrison.
JOHN BLAIR LINN (1777-1804), the author of the "Powers of Genius"
(1801), a popular work which was splendidly reprinted in London,[13] was the son of Dr. William Linn, of Shippensburg, who presided successively over the destinies of three colleges--Washington, Rutgers and Union--and was for many years a regent of a fourth--the University of the State of New York. John Blair was graduated from Columbia, read law with Alexander Hamilton, wrote an unsuccessful drama, "Bourville Castle," and on June 13, 1799, was installed as joint-pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, Philadelphia. He engaged in controversy with Joseph Priestley, but his best achievements were "Valerian," a narrative poem, and "The Death of Washington" (1800). John Blair Linn was a brother-in-law of Charles Brockden Brown. A biographical sketch of him was written for the _Port Folio_ in 1809 (page 21), and again in 1811 (89-97). Brown also published a review of his life and work in the _Literary Magazine_, Vol. II, page 554.
[13] The Powers of Genius, a poem in three parts, by John Blair Linn, A.M. Albion Press. Printed by J. Cundee, Ivy Lane, for F. Williams, Stationers" Court, and T. Hurst, Paternoster Row, 1804.
JOHN SHAW (1778-1809) was born in Annapolis, May 4, 1778, and lost at sea January 10, 1809. He studied medicine in the University of Pennsylvania, and visited Algiers as a ship-surgeon in 1798. He died on a voyage to the Bahama Islands.
The best poem that he contributed to the _Port Folio_ was:
Who has robbed the ocean cave, To tinge thy lips with coral hue?
Who from India"s distant wave For thee those pearly treasures drew?
Who, from yonder Orient sky, Stole the morning of thine eye?
Thousand charms thy form to deck, From sea, and earth, and air are born; Roses bloom upon thy cheek, On thy breath their fragrance borne.
Guard thy bosom from the day, Lest thy snows should melt away.
But one charm remains behind, Which mute earth can ne"er impart; Nor in ocean wilt thou find, Nor in the circling air, a heart.
Fairest! wouldst thou perfect be, Take, oh take that heart from me.
All his offerings to the _Port Folio_ were signed "Ithacus." His poems were collected and published in 1810, together with a memoir and extracts from his foreign correspondence.
FRANCIS COPE contributed essays to the _Port Folio_ in 1812. He was an occasional writer for several years, signing his papers with the initials "C. F."
ROBERT H. ROSE is the author of the "Sketches in Verse," published in 1810, nearly all of which had previously appeared in the _Port Folio_, where the "Sketches" were termed "a kind of chalk drawings." One of them, "To a Market Street Gutter," was a parody of the "Ode to the Raritan," and was the cause of John Davis writing the "Pursuits of Philadelphia Literature".[14]
[14] There is no mention of Robert Rose in Duyckinck, or Allibone, in Appleton"s Encyclopaedia of American Biography, or in the admirable Stedman-Hutchinson Library of American Literature.
The _Port Folio_ of May, 1816 (page 361), has a frontispiece engraving of "Silver Lake," the seat of Robert Rose, in Susquehanna County, on the New York line.
ODE TO A MARKET STREET GUTTER.
_A Specimen of Local Description._
O sweetest Gutter! though a clown, I love to see thee running down; Or mark thee stop awhile, then free From ice, jog on again, like me; Or like the la.s.ses whom I meet, Who, sauntering, stray along the street, As if they had nowhere to go!
At times, so rapid is thy flow, That did the cits not wish in vain Thou wouldst be in the pumps again, But like a pig, whose fates deny To find again his wonted sty, You turn, and stop, and run, and turn, Yet ne"er shall find your "native urn."
How oft has rolled down thy stream Things which in song not well would seem, Ere scavengers their sc.r.a.pers plied To drag manure from out thy tide, Or hydrants bade thy scanty rill Desert its banks and cellars fill.
Last Thursday morn, so very cold, A morn _not_ better felt than told, Then first in all its bright array, Did I thy "frozen form" survey; And, goodness! what a great big steeple!
What sights of houses! and such people!!
And then I thought, did I not stutter, But verse could, like _some poets_, utter, How much I"d praise thee, sweetest Gutter!
After the publication of this parody John Davis printed "The Philadelphia Pursuits of Literature. By Juvenal Junius of New Jersey.
Phila.: John Davis, 1805."
"Then Muses aid me! and I"ll fain review The Philadelphia lounging scribbling crew."
Davis had met the gentlemen of the _Port Folio_ and had all the information necessary for stinging satire of the Mutual Admiration Society that met at Meredith"s and Hopkinson"s or at Dennie"s office. In his "Travels" (p. 203), he writes: "At Philadelphia I found Mr. Brown (C. B.), who felt no remission of his literary diligence by a change of abode (from New York). He was ingratiating himself into the favor of the ladies by writing a new novel, and rivalling Lopez de Vega by the mult.i.tude of his works. Mr. Brown introduced me to Mr. (Asbury) d.i.c.kins, and Mr. d.i.c.kins to Mr. Dennie; Mr. Dennie presented me to Mr. Wilkins, and Mr. Wilkins to the Rev. Mr. Abercrombie; a constellation of American geniuses, in whose blaze I was almost consumed.... Rev. Mr.
Abercrombie was impatient of every conversation that did not relate to Dr. Johnson, of whom he could detail every anecdote from the time he trod on a duck till he purchased an oak-stick to repulse Macpherson."[15]
[15] Abercrombie"s prospectus for a new edition of Johnson"s Works--"to be comprised in fourteen octavo volumes, with new designs and plates.
Phila.: 1811"--is contained in the _Port Folio_, Vol. VI, p. 98.
In the "Philadelphia Pursuits" Davis wrote of Dennie:
"There"s no clown from Walpole to h.e.l.l-Gate, But ribaldry from him has learned to prate."
And again:
"Such is our Dennie! high exalted name, Eager alike for dollars and for fame."
Two Philadelphians only escaped the sting of the adder:
"With Clifton, Nature"s poet, who shall vie?
Though low he lies, his works shall never die.